


A Moment of Quiet

by Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hot Mess Mercymaker, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, The Mug, Warmup Fic, What's the Opposite of Domestic Bliss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9545498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster
Summary: When Widowmaker joined the organization, Angela was the first to remind her peers in Overwatch that it was with the most exaggerated air quotes around the term "reformed." She might've been deeply mentally scarred in order to commit all the acts she'd been trained to perform for Talon, but in Angela's own words, even without the mental conditioning, Amélie Lacroix was still "a huge pain in my ass."And god, the two could not get along for anything.





	

When Widowmaker joined the organization, Angela was the first to remind her peers in Overwatch that it was with the most exaggerated air quotes around the term "reformed." She might've been deeply mentally scarred in order to commit all the acts she'd been trained to perform for Talon, but in Angela's own words, even without the mental conditioning, Amélie Lacroix was still "a huge pain in my ass."

And god, the two could not get along for anything.

Every minor infraction between them inevitably devolved into a month-long spat, with the two snarking and bickering at each other near-constantly any time they were within earshot of the other. Jack had initially tried to break the two up when he saw it, but that only served to refocus the pair's ire on  _ him, _ so he quickly learned that it was just faster to let the two argue each other down for a few weeks before they wound up on a different argument topic.

Angela and Amélie couldn't even stem the arguing long enough to complete a mission. More than half of the activity on the team's communications link was inevitably taken up by the pair's seemingly endless bickering over utterly asinine disputes. Jack tried again to threaten to pull them off missions together if they couldn't knock it off.

In the end, he wound up assigning the pair their own private comm link, codenamed B1KR. It was just more efficient that way.

The truth didn't come out till one particularly gruesome mission, as they headed back to the Watchpoint by dropship. The injuries were plentiful that day, but Angela had done an excellent job of keeping them healed on the battlefield—with the exception of one particular sniper, who'd been too far away from the heat of the fight for Mercy to keep an eye on. Shrapnel had caught Widowmaker across the cheek, and while the cut was shallow, it'd bled tremendously.

Angela had fussed relentlessly at Amélie on the ship as she cleaned and bandaged the wound, but for once Amélie was quiet. Nobody thought anything of the one-sided argument until Amélie's hand had come up, gently grasping the trembling hand that held the bandage to her cheek, and Angela fell quiet.

"Please don't worry me like that, schatzli," Angela finally whispered, voice trembling. The softness of her voice and the reverent pet name made most of the team look up in surprise.

"I know, chérie, I know," Amélie murmured soothingly, reaching out to cradle the medic's face in her hands. "I am here. You will not be rid of me that easily."

The tender moment was bizarre enough for the onlookers. Then Amélie pulled Angela close for a kiss with more softness than most of Overwatch thought either of them capable of and half the team began coughing and sputtering immediately. Angela had the decency to look embarrassed at such an intimate display in front of half the team. Amélie simply smirked and dragged her closer, very intentionally placing her hands on the flustered doctor's ass.

Nobody was really sure when the two wound up together. When Angela was asked, she'd think on it a moment and cite either their first "date" (such as it was; an undercover intel-gathering mission at some upper-crust soirée in Zürich, for which the two had reluctantly been tasked to play a couple) or their first kiss (breathless and desperate, separated from their team, crammed into a tiny hiding place on a Talon outpost raid, soaked to the bone with frigid rain and certain of death), but either way she was very insistent upon the fact that it had most certainly taken place  _ well after _ Amélie had been discharged from her professional care.

Amélie, for her part, laughed whenever she heard that, and when pressed for an answer, would just smirk and inform the asker that Angela had been aching for her  _ long _ before she'd been brought back into Overwatch's fold. She never elaborated.

Once the secret was out, bets were placed on how much of the bickering had been a front and thus would die out once everybody knew. Ana and Lena swept the betting pools, the winning answer being, of course, "none of it." Ana claimed it was just that she'd known the girls for so long and knew how headstrong they were. Lena just laughed and said she'd always figured arguing was some sort of weird foreplay for those two. And in a way, that seemed to be accurate.

The pair kissed more frequently after that—for the most part, quick, chaste kisses in passing, but more than one soldier found themselves traumatized after walking in on Amélie shoving Angela against her office desk without knocking first. (Amélie had good aim and a better arm, it seemed.) The bickering continued, albeit with a more... domestic focus.

Angela spat and swore at her girlfriend for a week for misplacing a book of hers. Amélie seethed for ages when Angela made an offhanded comment that she was the more dominant of the two. Angela threatened Amélie for weeks about the stray cat that'd "followed her home" the one time. It took them five  _ months _ to resolve what the rest of the Watchpoint had come to know as "The Mug Incident." (To be fair, Hana and Lena exacerbated that one for their own amusement.) There was simply no end to the constant bickering between the two.

Hana had asked Angela once why she continued seeing Amélie when it was so clear they didn't like each other.

Angela had been utterly baffled. "I beg your pardon? We're very happy together." A small smile had touched her lips, then, revealing a tenderness Hana wasn't sure she'd ever seen on the doctor's face. Her soft blue eyes glittered with pleasure. "I know it must seem like we can't ever agree on anything, but..." A shrug; a bashful tuck of the chin, a shy smile. "Amélie really has been good for me. More than I can say." So Hana left her alone.

Lena had asked Amélie a similar question of her own accord. Amélie hadn't even looked up from the book she'd been browsing. " _ Hah. _ You know nothing about it," she snorted, flicking to the next page with a note of finality. Lena could only roll her eyes at the theatrics. Typical, really.

But it seemed that they were telling the truth about that much: it was in the quiet moments that the rest of the Watchpoint got glimpses of what those two saw in each other.

Amélie was seen carrying Angela to bed more than once from where she'd fallen asleep at her desk again, the exhausted doctor still fast asleep, cuddled comfortably in her careful grip. Angela became a more frequent visitor to the research library, half-reclined on one of the couches as she read, lightly playing with Amélie's hair as the sniper dozed in her lap. The pair were caught  _ several _ times curled up together in the lounge in the early morning hours, giggling quietly to themselves, murmuring in hushed voices, delirious with sleep loss and drunk on each other, Amélie pressing sluggish, sleepy kisses to the pulseless hollow of Angela's throat or Angela listening to the lethargic tattoo of Amélie's heartbeat... Those were the nights that made their companions reconsider.

The kisses stayed soft, but they happened more regularly.

Gentle kisses good morning, of course—but also quick kisses simply in greeting. Lighter, faster kisses pressed to flushed cheeks when the other was too busy to put their work down. Slower, deeper ones when they were deployed separately. Small, speedy ones when they were deployed together. (One each, careful, careful, against Amélie's eyelids, for luck. Dozens against Angela's palms and fingers, for similar reasons. A final one, breathless and fleeting, before they left the dropship.)

Just a hug—tight, anchoring, demanding—when they both came home again.

This was usually followed by a short argument regarding how tight, exactly, the hugs were. Lena typically used the opportunity to request in not as many words that the pair take their "damn weird foreplay" back to the bedroom before they made her sick—which of course usually wound up with Amélie grabbing her girlfriend with one hand and making a crude gesture with the other, which led to Angela going scarlet and swearing in multiple languages at her smug and altogether unfazed girlfriend. (Hana and Lena typically learned  _ way _ more about the pair's sex lives than they  _ ever _ wanted to know from  _ those _ arguments.)

Thus the ceaseless bickering  _ continued _ not ceasing, at least in the public eye. But those who cared to look hard enough caught the smiles and light touches, the embraces and murmured "I love you"s, the private rapture in the moments of quiet—and while they still didn't  _ get it, _ not really, they understood enough to let the two alone about the arguments. It seemed like they knew what they were doing.

(And if the pair came into work one day with mismatched rings on their left hands in the midst of a heated debate on who had "planned to ask first," well—that was just typical, wasn't it?)


End file.
